


The Might Rio Grande

by Bluejay141519



Series: This Will Destroy You [1]
Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: Definitely not my thing, Gen, Guilty Adam, Hurt Amir, but i tried, drugged, how do you tag again, hurt Top, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: Amir wants to know how everything got this fucked up.It's not that he minds the danger his job puts him in, hell he welcomes it sometimes, but this was getting a little ridiculous.Being killed by his team leader was not how he wanted to go out.





	The Might Rio Grande

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmorgan317](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmorgan317/gifts).



> I triedddd, I tried hardddd. I'm also so, so tired. Also, two fics in two days, look what happens when I have time on the weekends. Please excuse any grammar mistakes, this is un-beta'd and I'm really tired.
> 
> Song in the title is by This Will Destroy You, strong recommendation to listen.

Amir wants to know how everything got this fucked up.

 

It’s not that he minds the danger his job puts him in, hell he welcomes it sometimes, but this was getting a little ridiculous.

 

Being killed by his team leader was _not_ how he wanted to go out.

 

Honestly, a little warning next time. That’s all he wants. Just a small  memo that says ‘ _this is going to be especially dangerous because there's a mad scientist who wants to test out a new drug and get revenge on the deputy director of the DIA so he’ll try to kidnap her favorite Spec Ops team and have a little fun_ ’ at the bottom of the debrief file.

 

Would that be too much to ask?

 

Normally, when the team goes in, they know what the stakes are. If its innocent lives, if its world war, if its US security. If it’s full support, or complete communications blackout. They know.

 

So the simple “go to this place, get this thing, try not to die” op that they found themselves on, should have been just another Tuesday at the office.

 

Then they breached a half decimated concrete building in Afghanistan, and instead of being met with a boatload of bad guys, they’re greeting was more like a completely empty floor and a few well places grenades that gassed them into oblivion.

 

Waking up was pretty horrible, given he was nauseous while gagged, tied to a chair, and in some gross, dark little room. The headache was a bitch to deal with as well, but it certainly wouldn't be the first time he woke up like this, and it probably wouldn’t be his last.

 

It also wasn’t like he didn’t know what to do. The former operative just scrolled through his options, (stay and wait for whoever kidnapped him to come in and talk, escape out that little window to his left, break out of the restraints and go looking for his team) and ultimately decided that being able to pull the gag from his mouth before he threw up was his best option.

 

And then the screaming started.

 

He had actually managed to slip one of the cuffs (handcuff, _really_ , you restrain a highly trained American soldier with _handcuffs_ ) and was yanking the dirty rag from his mouth when the first yell rang out.

 

He froze, because that yell sounded a lot like McG - and then the deep, guttural scream of agony followed almost immediately - _that was Top._

 

There were more yells, and he had very quickly recognized the voices, _PreachJazMcGuire_ , and at least managed to feel relief that they were all alive. But the sobbing wails that rang out over all of them, that was still Dalton, and while Amir didn’t know what they were doing to him, he knew it had to be pretty horrible. His boss was not weak by any means, and it certainly took a lot to break him.

 

That was the first time Amir heard him scream.

 

The agony in it made him unfreeze, and made his efforts to break free that much more urgent, but whatever they gave him, whether it was the gas or something afterward, it was messing with him. His hands were shaking, and it took way too much effort to keep himself focused and thinking straight.

 

He was just about to get the other hand free, when the noise - his team yelling, Adams heartbreaking screams, all of it - just stopped.

 

He had looked at the door to his left, then back down at his wrist, then made an executive decision to not be caught in the middle of trying to escape. The plan turned out to be a good one, because not a few seconds after getting himself re-cuffed, a guy comes in, looking like one of the men Amir spent most of his life bringing down.

 

What was weird though, was the guy who came in after him, the one who was certainly not middle-eastern, and who had a different look in his eye than what Amir was used too.

 

Amir was used to true-believers, used to people who found satisfaction in every moment they existed because they knew that what they purposed their lives to would hurt America and her allies. They didn’t care about the innocent lives they destroyed, didn’t care what their actions meant for Muslims, because they believed they were right in everything they did.

 

That look was in the first guy. The second guy, the clean shaven thin looking white guy with a pasty complexion, that guy looked...insane. Like there were voices inside his head that he had no problem listening too. First guy was a bodyguard with the satisfaction of looking at his prisoner. Second guy was someone who was getting revenge.

 

So that pretty much ruled out that the revenge was on Amir specifically, because if his cover was blown, he knows he’d have been the one screaming.

 

The second man asked him his name, but he doesn’t talk, and of _course_ , the guy starts monologuing. This is his revenge, this is a message, you don’t know my genius, the whole shabang.

 

Amir idly wondered if he could take a nap and wake up at the part where the guy either tortures him or starts telling what's going on. Fortunately the latter comes first, and oh, Patricia basically had the guy fired because she ‘didn’t understand his work’, which is crazy speak for the director noticing that the crazy guy was doing crazy things, and like a normal person, she told him to stop. When he didn’t, she told her superiors to have a look, and they went ‘yeah, _no_ , get this guy out of here’.

 

So she did. He skipped over the part between him being fired and ending up in afghanistan with a terrorist cells working for him, but Amir could really care less. He was only half focused on the conversation as it was happening, more intent on planning how to get out of wherever they are.

 

The conversation became much more interesting when bad guy number one (call him Mr. Bodyguard) left the room. Amir had seen a chance, and was trying to get the guy to come a little closer to him by opening his mouth and speaking for the first time. It was working, and with his left hand basically free, the man only needed to step forward a few more feet, and Amir would have him.

 

Except he didn’t get the chance. Because Mr. Bodyguard yelled something, and then the insane guy almost ran from the room.

 

A few seconds went by, and Amir had double checked that the cuffs on his wrist were workable still, when the door opened again.

 

Only this time it wasn’t another goon, it was his leader, looking a lot more okay than Amir would’ve guessed from the commotion earlier.

 

The older man strode over to him, ignoring Amirs shocked face and confused question. He had his head turned towards the door right up until he reached Amir’s chair, where he had promptly sent a sharp right hook to his teammates cheek. Then another to his jaw. Then an uppercut to his stomach, and jab to his ribs, and another, and another, and he never stopped.

 

And that’s where Amir is now. Tied to a chair, getting the shit beaten out of him by his TL.

 

It’s only been a few minutes, but he can already count the cracked ribs, feel the bruises forming, feel his eye swelling from the first punch. The pain is almost blinding, so oppressive it makes it hard to think past a straight stream of ‘ _ow, ow, ow, ow_ ’ that’s being sent from almost every part of his body.

 

See he thought...well fuck what he thought it was stupid anyway. When Top walked in after the guy had yelled, he thought maybe Top just killed the assholes, and they were getting out of here.

 

Now, he gets what bad guy number two (crazy scientist dude) was making his great speech about. He talked about his genius being used to benefit soldiers, make them better at their jobs. Amir knew, from his little life story, that he was a biochemist. So to say that, he was talking about basically brainwashing people (something Amir has a hard time believing, but whatever), and he said he found something extraordinary in the process.

 

So Amir's best guess, is that he created a drug that allowed for a manipulated reality. Maybe it made the subject confused and therefor pliable, or maybe it induced a state of enhanced emotions, so frustration could become rage very easily.

 

Maybe it was both.

 

A harsh fist to stomach makes his entire abdomen explode in pain, and Amir jerks, head dropping forward with a sharp cry.

 

The fists stop. Amir coughs, a rough, hard reflexive motion that makes his chest want to implode. He tries not to be to worried about the amount of blood that floods his mouth, letting it flow past his lips in a dark stream. The metallic taste is overwhelming, and he works his tongue as best he can to get it out of his mouth before he pukes. Throwing up right now would not only be hell, but it might push one of his broken ribs into his lung, and then he’ll be in real trouble.

 

There is something important happening though, a tiny little blinking red warning light in the back of his brain that is saying _pay attention_.

 

Dalton stopped. The beating stopped. And now his team leader is staring at him with bloody knuckles and a stone cold expression on his face, breathing hard from beating up his own teammate. Amir searches for his eyes, and in the dim light sees pupils so dilated there’s only a thin ring of blue visible around them.

 

He sighs, closing his eyes to breath. Despite the pain in his body, there is a soft sort of relief that soothes over the hurt in his heart. Dalton didn’t go crazy. He’s drugged. And Amir knows for a fact, that he doesn’t want to be doing this (the guy can take out a hostile from half a mile away, but actually cried the one time he stepped on a ladybug). He is, by definition, a teddy bear, but Amir knows that you can’t be all soft and cuddly and survive in this line of work. And you certainly, do not become a Captain.

 

Amir knows Top has a dark side. A very, very dark side. He knows, because he watches Adam hide it the same way he does. He helps people to keep himself from toeing the line. It’s why Amir joined the CIA, and its also why he left. It kept getting harder and harder to wait, to let them blow up a few people so he could save a thousand. He counted it as a blessing when the CIA pulled him out, and he was even more grateful to get assigned to a team that works so... _well_. Not every team is close like theirs, in fact he’s seen more than a few where the guys just about hate each other, but won’t transfer.

 

Top doesn’t want to do this. Amir just has to make him see that without getting killed. It’s just like being undercover. Figure out what the other person wants him to be, and he can figure out what to say. Figure out what the other person wants, and adapt to make them think that they can’t get that without him.

 

 _‘It’s just another op.’_ He tells himself _. ‘This isn’t your friend Top, this is just another dangerous man.’_

 

He almost convinces himself of that. He gets really, really close to slipping into that mentality. It’s a survival instinct at this point, given all those years of work, and with the residual effects of the drug and the massive, throbbing bruise that makes up his upper body, he gets right down to it.

 

Until Top speaks. And it throws him right out whatever calm (if semi-dissociative) state of mind he was into.

 

“You’re going to tell me what you did.” Amir has to physically restrain from flinching at his voice. He sounds angry, yes. Enraged even. But underneath that cold anger is a deep note of sorrow, like he’s broken inside. It tears at something inside him, because Top should _not_ sound like that. He sounds like-

 

...like someone killed his family.

 

_Oh please, please no…_

 

“What I did to _who_.” Amir rasps, praying to god he’s wrong. Adam lunges forward with a snarl, gripping his prisoner by the hair and yanking his head back. He leans forward, nearly touching noses with Amir, who’s got the other man's gaze deadlocked.

 

There isn’t a single spark of recognition in them. But he still stopped when Amir cried out. It may have been that there’s a part of him that _knows_ this is wrong, or it may just be that he was only getting warmed up.

 

“I want to know what you did to _my team.”_ Top growls, jerking Amir’s head back at the end of the sentence before stepping back and letting go.

 

Amir swallows hard. He knows how bad this is now, its been confirmed. If there’s one thing Top is, its loyal. He’d do anything for the team, so much to the point that it probably scares himself.

 

That sentence, that voice? It means the bad guy - the dark side that would murder in cold blood - that guy is here now.

 

It means Top thinks they’re all dead or kidnapped, and he thinks Amir is not only responsible, but also the only person who’s connected to them.

 

It means Amir’s a dead man.

 

He can’t play this. There is no guy to slip into, no facade to put up, no role to act. Top is going to torture him for information about...him.

 

The caring part of Amir - the part that is still mourning his sister, the part that wants to start screaming because this _can’t actually be happening right now_ \- that part of him hurts, and it hurts in a way he can’t describe. It’s betrayal, but it’s not Tops fault, and it’s fucking _traumatizing,_ because he can handle getting the shit beat out of him but he can’t handle the fists coming from someone he trusts not to hurt him.

 

(There’s also a conflicting burn of protective anger in his stomach, calling for blood, because _they did this to him,_ they poisoned someone he cares about, they’re making him do this. This will hurt Amir, but it’s going to destroy Top).

The analytical part of Amir - the agent part, the cold, numbers orients part, the part that has multiple different escape scenarios lined up and ready to go - that part of him is whispering a very simple detail.

 

_He stopped when you cried out in pain._

 

When Top audibly heard Amir in pain, he stopped. Even if that just his subconscious, it means there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to be doing this, a part of him that at the very least recognizes this is wrong.

 

And Amir can reach it. He just needs to figure out how.

 

Audibly. Auditory. Top needs to hear him.

 

“Top.” He croaks, then clears his throat. “Top listen to me.”

 

There’s a blur of movement then a burst of pain, and it takes too long for Amir’s brain to realize Dalton just drove his knuckles into his sternum. The pain is astounding, and any breath he had is driven out to seemingly never return.

 

“ _Don’t call me that!”_ He screams, and Amir blinks, eyes still watering from the rippling jolts of electricity in his chest he feels as his muscles spasm in an attempt to ge air back.

“It’s your name. Isn’t it?” He gasps out, pushing himself to get through the horrible discomfort that comes with talking. And breathing. “Top. That’s what we call you, even though no one’s told me _why-_ ”

 

“Shut _up_! You don’t get to call me that! Only...only they can...” His anger fades at the end, for a brief second he looks confused, and Amir thinks he’s got him.

 

Then he turn around, grabs Amirs left wrist and gives it a sharp and powerful twist.

 

Amir screams, feeling the bones in his forearm shatter with the applied force. His breathing turn ragged and short, and his head drops to his chest as darkness encroaches on his vision. He forces himself to slow his breathing, willing himself not to pass out. If he’s gone now, Top will wake up to Amir dead body.

 

“It’s okay.” He croaks, dragging his head back up to stare at his boss. “It’s okay.” He repeats, voice smoother, more sure.

 

“This isn’t you, Top. I know that.”

 

“You know nothing about me.” He says back, voice colder than ice. “But you know what happened to them. And you’re gonna tell me.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“And why’s that.” He asks (states?), with the same false calm he has when he’s talking to one of our marks.

 

“Because you already know. It’s happening right now, Top, it’s _me,_ your teammate _\- ah!”_

 

Top pulls back, and Amir shudders, renewed pain in his side pulsing over the previous aches. If he didn’t have internal bleeding before, he definitely does now. Dalton is punching with everything he has.

 

But he’s not punching as often as he was before, so Amir steadys his voice again, and tries to push the pain back in its box.

 

“My name is Amir Al-Raisani, when you recruited me four months ago, you told me I was going to be your invisible man. We went through my file together before you asked me to be on your team, _you know me-_ ”

 

He aims another punch at Amir's abdomen before leveling a fist with his chest in a practiced blow that probably instantly breaks his third and fourth rib. Amir moans, spitting out more blood from his mouth but repressing the urge to cough.

_Don’t stop now._

 

“Look at me, Top! You can do this! _Look_ at me, I am not who they told you I was-”

 

 _“Liar!”_ Another punch, and Amir’s head snaps to the side, blood running down his face while he blinks stars from his limited vision.

 

“-you know who I am, Dalton. You just have to look at me.”

 

_Please hear me, Top, please._

 

“You’re the one who _took them from me!”_ He thunders, accompanying his words with more blows of his fist. Stomach. Left side of his face. Straight uppercut to his chin that’s followed immediately another right hook to his jawline that slips his lip.

 

Amir tries to focus on the physical pain. He tries to focus on _staying_ focused, on staying awake, and not on the horrible grief that’s evident in Tops voice. Buried under all that anger, he thinks his family is gone. Amir knows just what that feels like. And when he thinks about how he felt after his sister, he knows that if he was in Tops position right now, he’d be doing a lot worse. He wouldn’t want to listen, wouldn’t want to hear that he has the wrong guy. He’d just want the pain to stop, and covering it with rage was a good way of doing that.

 

So maybe talking to him wasn’t the best thing to do. But there’s something different in his eyes, something that wasn’t there before, and Amir would really like to believe it’s him coming out of it.

 

Except the punches still aren’t being pulled, as evident by the bruises on top of bruises he’s getting, and the river of blood gushing from his nose, and the way he’s rapidly descending into shock. He feels...cold. Cold and empty and hollow. Every punch is like a small sting of pain, an explosion of fire that quickly cools into numbness.

 

It may be forever, it may be only a minute that passes, but eventually Dalton pulls his fist back, blood streaming down his knuckles and pain visible in his previously dead eyes. Amir is tired, he’s fucking exhausted, and he’s lost whatever smidge of hope he had that Top could hear him, but know that if Top lands this blow, it’ll probably kill him. He can barely open his eyes, and every cell of his body is screaming in the agony of simply existing. He just wants this to be over, one way or another.

 

But Top did something for him no one else had before, and now it’s time for Amir to return the favor.

 

So he tries again. Just one more time.

 

“ _Adam_ .” Amir whispers. “ _Please_.”

 

There is silence. Nothing but Amir’s wheezing breaths, and Tops heavy breathing.

 

When Top touches him again, it’s not with his knuckles and there’s such little force behind it Amir can barely feel it through the pain. He lifts his eyes slowly, afraid to feel hope.

 

“Amir?” He whispers, eyes wide, pupils still the size of kansas. He sways, and before Amir can do much more than feel the vague notion of alarm, he stumbles backwards a few feet, before eventually collapsing to the ground.

 

Someone starts shooting. Amir feels the most intense rush of relief he’s ever felt in his entire life, and let’s the numbness of shock take him to sleep.

 

\------

 

He wakes up to a really nice feeling of warmth, and the absence of pain.

 

Well. Sort of. The absence of extreme pain, at least. Fire is still sent crawling across his chest whenever he breaths, but it doesn’t hurt to exist as much as it did in the compound, so that’s nice. Broken ribs always have a nice way of reminding him of all the times he took painless breathing for granted (sort of like when you have a cold, and your nose is stuffed up, and all you can do is sit there miserably and think of the times when your nose was clear). Added bonus, is that broken or cracked or bruised ribs make the process of breathing, normally so simple, automatic, deliberate and painful.

 

He was aware of every breath he took.

 

It stayed like that for a little while, just the sound of his own breathing loud in his ears, but eventually, that faded out, and smaller, quieter sounds entered his ears and tiptoed around his head to wake up his thoughts. The beeping of a heart monitor, the soft murmur of whatever hospital staff were bustling around outside his room, and of course-

 

“...in english, McG.”

 

“They took him off the vent yesterday afternoon so he should be waking up soon-ish but they really don’t know because his whole body is basically a bruise. Including his head. Better?”

 

“Hey I’m supposed the sassy little shit, not you princess.”

 

-the not so soft voice of one Joseph McGuire talking bullshit to a really not quiet Jaz Khan. The absence of an immediate quote of wisdom says that Preach isn’t in the room, which is good. Someone should be with Top-

 

A sharp bolt of adrenaline surges through Amirs body and he jolts, sitting straight up right with a gasp.

 

“ _Dalton!”_ He yells, barely noticing the rather comical reactions of his teammates (McG actually _falls out of his chair_ ) as it all comes rushing back to him, everything that happened, including a few little bits of stuff from after he passed out.

 

Top had a seizure. He was on the ground, or, or they both were, so it must’ve been on the transport home. He remembers, because McG had been working on him, then suddenly Jaz was yelling, and Amir had used whatever tiny amount of energy he had to turn his head and follow the medics sharp movement away from.

 

He remembers flashes of lights, from being wheeled into the hospital, and tiny bits of agonizing movement from before, when Preach was carrying him out of the hell hole they were held in. He remembers Top _hitting Jaz_ before McG knocked him out.

 

Speaking of McG, he’s still scrambling to stand back up, shock pretty obvious on his face while Jaz is already standing next to his bed, grabbing Amir’s shoulder as his injuries catch up with him.

 

“Holy _shit_ Amir-” McG sputters, and Amir moans at the horrible internal pain that’s exploding across his chest while a few dozen red hot knives try to make their way deeper into his abdomen.

 

That’s what it feels like anyway.

 

“Hey idiot, lay the _fuck_ down before you pass out.” Jaz gently ( _gently_ ? Since when is _that_ a thing she does) helps him lie back down in the hospital bed, although its not the farthest distance to go. The upper part of the bed it at an incline, so he’s half sitting up even when he’s lying flat against the mattress.

 

“Just breath dude.”

 

“Trust me, McG, I am _fucking_ breathing.” Amir wheezes, voice unfortunately lacking the caliber of venom he wanted it to have. “Where’s Top, and what the fuck happened.”

 

There’s a distinct lack of immediate response, as well as a look exchanged between Jaz and McGuire that has Amir set on edge. He glances between the two, unable to read their expression.

 

“What?” He asks, mind assuming the worst. “If he okay? Is he- is he- I thought we got out-”

 

“We did.” Jaz reassures, still looking uncomfortable. There’s a small bruise on her cheek and she has a few butterfly stitches on her left temple but other than she just looks...tired. And maybe a little worried. “He’s- I mean we’re all alive. You and Top were the only ones who had to be admitted.”

 

“We’re all _alive?! That’s_ the best you can tell me? What the hell happened to him? How long have I been out? Where’s Preach?”

 

“Okay so - he was drugged, I’m gonna assume you know what happened to you since you didn’t ask. It’s been about two days, and Preach is with Top in his own room.” McG explains, just as rushed Amir had asked his question. He swallows, taking in the information and adding it to what he already knows.

 

It doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

 

“Why is he still in the hospital after two days if he was only drugged?” Amir seethes.

 

“He’s still...detoxing.”

 

“ _Detoxing_.” The former spy rolls the word around in his sore mouth, hating how it sounds. “Do we know what they gave him?”

 

“No. But it’s messing with his head.” Jaz responds, and there’s that tone again, the worried, apprehensive tone the gets whenever one of us is in danger and she can’t do anything about it.

 

“As in he’s not coherent?” He asks.

 

“Something like that, yeah.” She says, a little softer. Amir glares, pain shortening his patience considerably.

 

“Either he is or he isn’t Jaz, I want to see him-”

 

“ _That’s_ not happening anytime soon.” McG cuts in. “Do you have any idea how badly he worked you? I’m surprised you’ve been able to talk for this long.”

 

Amir has to admit that he’s stupidly tired for being awake for a only a few minutes. Even though he’s laying back, there’s still a fierce ache in his chest and abdomen that says moving _anything_ is going to be hell for a while.

 

He refuses to think about the other things that will be hell for a while.  


\---------

 

Amir sees Top before either of them are ready. He convinces the team to go back to their normal living space, and gets the room number from a nurse. He figures if he gets it over with while he’s in the hospital, then maybe when he gets released it won’t be as bad.

 

There’s a really embarrassing struggle to escape full of fast shallow breaths and quiet groans of pain that leads an equally embarrassing trip down the hallway (he leans on the wall most of the time and there’s a lot stumbling and wincing). He hides behind a wall incase Preach is still in the room, and after a few seconds of skillful peeking, he makes a dash for it.

 

Top is sleeping, because it was about one in the morning, but Amir freezes when he’s no more than three feet into the room, because he can’t stop _thinking_ about it-

 

-and he leaves before Top has the chance to wake up and see the fear on his face.

 

Then it’s a constant struggle to stay normal, because he _knows_ this wasn’t Adam’s fault, he knows the last thing the team leader needs is Amir flinching away from him, knows that leaving the team is the absolute _last_ thing he wants to do, but that it might be best.

 

He’s dreading leaving the hospital, because he knows that they’ll both in the same space without strict orders to stay away from each other. Top got released before him, but when he gets back to their little compound on base, he’s nowhere to be found.

 

Amir would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved.

 

“Where is he?” He asks, happily claiming the super squishy couch they have in the corner that always gets fought over. The whole place is quiet, but you can hear the sounds of base life around them, which is better than the tension of the hospital. Preach is nowhere to be found either, and Jaz is quick to make herself scarce, so McG is the one who gives him the most information, stiffening slightly at the question before tossing a water bottle and a bottle of pills at him.

 

They land with a soft thump next to him on the couch, Amir having watched with slight amusement as they drifted through the air. One arm is in a sling, and he certainly wasn’t about to try any sharp movements with the other. Moving _anything_ at this point is hell, because his upper body is just one giant healing bruise, and it’s going to be a while a before his body gets around to healing everything up.

 

“He went for a run.” McG responds, and from the way he says it, Amir knows there’s a whole lot more going on than that. In fact, he’d put money down that says Preach is with him.

 

But when he think of seeing Top his stomach flips and his mouth feels dry, so he doesn’t push it.

 

He doesn’t push it for a while.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

It affects the team almost as much as it affects him. He notices it first in McG, who looks worn out all the time now, constantly exhausted and quiet, rarely talking except to ask medical question and answer the ones that Amir asks him.

 

Jaz is noticeably agitated, but never expresses it to Amir directly, which is surprising considering where they started. The normally outspoken sniper is stuck in her head, only really staying in the compound to eat, sleep, and beat the fuck out of the punching bag. He’s going stir crazy, despite having only been out of the hospital a few days, and he works up the nerve to ask her why she doesn’t stick around.

 

He expects her to insult him, and in fact hopes for one her signature salty responses, because then there might be some hope for normalcy. Instead, she just tells him that it’s easier to be okay when she’s not standing next to him.

 

Amir puts himself in her shoes for a mere second, and instantly understands what she’s saying.

 

Preach, he only sees once or twice. Both times they have a very hard conversation, and both times he sees how worried the other man is. It almost hurts to think that some of that worry is directed towards _him_ , not Top.

 

Amir thinks that Preach might be too good for this line of work.

 

“He has to face it eventually, you know.” He tells Jaz one night, when he walks back from PT to hear her tell him another excuse for why Top isn’t there. He’s tired and frustrated and perpetually sore, and he fully expects her to snap at him. He _wants_ her too, wants her to start acting normal again, wants everything to go back to how it was before. He wants Top to just come _back_.

 

Instead she just blinks, and a tiny bit of... _something_ shows on her face.

 

“So do you.” She replys, and then retires to the sleeping area, leaving Amir alone in the kitchen with a hole in his chest.

 

\-------------

 

They can’t keep it up. Between the two of them, if Top won’t come back, then Amir will leave. It will be hard, sure, but Top deserves this team more than he does. Hell, he _built_ this team, he shouldn’t get kicked from it because of something that wasn’t his fault.

 

He doesn’t want to leave though. He really doesn’t, but the higher ups are getting ansty, because the team has been off missions for two weeks now, and nothing has changed except that Amir can reach both arms up to wash his hair when he showers, and Preach is around a little more.

 

He’s actually staring at the transfer request when Top comes back. Or rather, he’s about to go looking for Dalton to give it to him, when the Captain walks in, and promptly freezes when he sees Amir.

 

There’s no one else in the compound, it’s just Amir sitting at the round table next to the kitchen. It’s almost suspicious that the team isn’t there, especially because he can’t think of any particular reason as to why they aren’t with him.

 

“Um…” Amir starts, then stops, brain operating through a wash of static. It’s not as bad as the hospital room, where he was suddenly scared of everything for no reason, but there’s a nervous tension under his skin. At least now, he can honestly admit to himself that yeah, he’s a little scared of Top.

 

He also knows that, logically, Top is probably more afraid of being around Amir than Amir is of being around Top. And if he wasn’t sure of that, the way Adam is whiter than a piece of paper definitely cements the knowledge in his brain.

 

“I can- I can go-” He stammers, and Amir is quick to say no.

 

“I mean...c’mon Top you can’t keep avoiding me-”

 

“Amir-”

 

“-okay you _can_ , but the team can’t stay out of action for much longer, so, uh, since this is going to be a thing if you could put this through? I think it would be best for everyone involved.” Amir finishes like Top never spoke, because this is hard enough to do in the first place, he doesn’t need to hear a man he respects more than himself tell him he’s wrong.

 

Of course, Tops does just that.

 

“You’re not transferring.” He rasps, cautiously stepping forward. Amir’s eyes widen in dismay as he takes in the sight of his leader, now more clearly outlined by the kitchen lights. Dark bags under his eyes, beard relatively unkempt, slouched posture screaming defeat. He looks...sick. Exhausted beyond functioning, with not a single spark of life in his eyes.

 

Amir wants to puke.

 

He’s angry, so angry, but not at Top, and ironically, not at himself.

 

Alright, a little bit at himself - he’s a spy goddamn it, he’s seen worse things, he’s been through worse things, he shouldn’t be reacting like this - but mostly, he’s angry at the situation, and he’s angry at the people who did this.

 

He just wants everything to be normal again. He wants Jaz to be salty all the time, he wants McG to get weirded out by Preaches weird sayings, he wants Dalton to drop the sarcastic one liners that he’s famous for and he wants to hear everyone laugh when he does.

 

He wants Dalton to be able to look him in the eye and not hate himself, and he wants to be able to be in the same room as Top and not feel afraid he’s going to get hit.

 

He wants to be feel like he’s part of a team again. He wants his family back.

 

“Well- then you aren’t either!” Amir sputters, and then feels a little stupid doing so. Top sighs, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. Amir knows that if he opens his mouth it’ll just have more self deprecating words, and he really can’t deal with that right now, so he figures taking the element of surprise might be the best way to get through to him.

 

“Look, Top we can’t keep doing this. _You_ can’t keep doing this. The team is wrecked, and neither of us are going to be able to move on we never see each other.”

 

“We’re seeing each other now.” He points out, only sounding a little childish.

 

Oh, so _Amir_ has to be the adult here.

 

“Yeah, because you didn’t think I would be here. I skipped PT to wait for you. Think I didn’t figure out your little schedule? I’m insulted Top, it’s like you forgot I used to do that for a living.”

 

Top gives him nothing at his little attempt at humor, and Amir lets his shoulders slouch with a sigh.

 

“Seriously man, we need to talk.”

 

“You aren’t-”

 

“Transferring? Yeah, I don’t want to. But I refuse to let you loose this team Adam Dalton, so either you sign the fucking paperwork, or we’re gonna have a talk, right now.”

 

It’s quiet for a moment. Then he shakes his head, and Amir feels his heart drop.

 

“I’m not going to make you stay here.” He says, sounding broken. “I’m not going to force you to stay on this team.” He holds out a hand for the paper, taking a step forward probably without thinking and Amir-

 

-Amir does the absolute worst thing he possibly could.

 

He flinches back. It’s a small motion, but Top sees it as it is, and his face crumples. Amir drops his eyes and Dalton steps back. There’s tense silence, each waiting for the other to speak, but Amir has to fix this now, because this isn’t what he wanted and his own stupid reaction might ruin it all. So he slides the paper closer to himself and forces himself to look back at Top, eyes narrowed.

 

“I’m sorry.” Top says quietly.

 

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Amir replies. “Apologizing implies there’s something you did that requires forgiveness. And since I blame you for nothing that’s happened, there’s nothing to forgive.”

 

“You couldn’t breath on your own for two days-”

 

“-because they were playing it safe-” Amir mumbles, knowing the angry tone in his friends voice is not a good sign.

 

“-because of something _I did!”_ Top snarls. Amir holds his gaze this time, and he sees how much pain this is causing the older man, he sees how much this hurts him. He knows that it only hurts him because he cares so much.

 

“I’m not going to leave because you have a guilt complex!” Amir snaps, feeling his chest ache at the lack of air from yelling. He knows he’s being harsh, but he doesn’t know how else to get through to the man.

 

“You don’t have to put yourself through this alright?! I’ve already hurt you enough I can’t do it again!” Top yells back and Amir thinks that _this_ is why Preach calls him the stupidest smart person you’ll ever meet.

 

“You’re right.” He says, voice softer. “I don’t have to. But did you ever think that I want to? That maybe, you’re one of the best men I’ve ever had the honor of working with and I don’t want to loose you or this team because of something that was out of our control?”

 

“ _Your_ .” Top corrects, voice rough. “Out of _your_ control.”

 

Amir sees red.

 

“It _wasn’t. Your._ _Fault!”_ He yells and just barely manages to hold back the wince of pain it causes him. “I don’t blame you! I blame the _assholes_ who drugged you and used you!”

 

“I know.” Top whispers.

 

“You have this diluted thought process that says you being in the same room as me is going to just- _you know?!_ What do you mean _you know_?”

 

“I know. You told me. The- the time in the compound, when it was me and you...I remember all of it. I remember what you said.”

 

_This isn’t you Top. I know that._

 

“Oh.” Amir croaks, and yeah, maybe he understands why Top has stayed away from him all this time. If he beat the shit out of Jaz, and then woke up remembering every second of it, remembering her crying out, remembering her telling him _“its okay I forgive you_ ”, he probably wouldn’t still be on base when she woke up.

 

And here’s Top, standing ten feet from him, talking to him about it.

 

“I know you don’t blame me.” Top repeats. “But I think you should. Because I blame myself, for everything, from the second we were taken to when we were rescued.”

 

Amir nods.

 

“I think I can understand that.” He says, because really, he _does_ . If he thinks about where Top is coming from, he does understand it. “But I don’t want... _this_ . You aren’t going to hurt me by doing this Top, but I’ll tell you this- by separating yourself from us, from me, by isolating yourself, you aren’t making healing any easier. I _need_ to be around you if I’m going to get past this, and you need to be able to look me in the face if we’re going to work together.

 

“It’s not going to be easy, but...I don’t want to leave this team. I don’t want you to leave it either.” Amir finishes softly, speaking around the lump in his throat.

 

“Easy.” Top repeats, and Amir thinks he sees just a tiny glimmer of the old Dalton, shining through the trauma and the exhaustion. He scoffs, lifting his head, shaking it back in forth in dismay. “Since when has anything we’ve ever done been _easy_.”

 

Top takes the seat next to him, and Amir gives the smallest of smiles before dramatically tearing up the transfer form.

 

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before Amir purses his lip and drops his gaze to the floor, innocently looking around the room.

 

“So…” He starts, trying and failing to suppress a smirk.”Did Preach live up to his nickname during your little excursions?”

 

Top groans like he’s in actual pain.

  
“Oh don’t even get me _started…_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, I tried. Comments water my soul. Is that a thing? Who knows. We're all in the matrix. There is no spoon.


End file.
